


every part of you

by spnhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bunker Fic, Cas loves Halloween, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, First Time, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Smut, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, dean hates halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 16:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16643609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnhell/pseuds/spnhell
Summary: Dean doesn't get why Cas wants to celebrate Halloween. Every day of their lives is frickin' Halloween, and he's said as much more than once. But Cas won't be swayed, and with Sam off for the month hunting with Garth, Dean decides to hell with it, he's got nothing better to do. Of course, he ends up with way more than he bargained for when Cas takes his command to go and 'change into something more comfortable' a little too literally.





	every part of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jemariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemariel/gifts).



> For the lovely Jemariel, who has been the most patient and supportive soul. I am so glad to finally have this gift ready for you!
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful [Foxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymoley/works) for reading over this so many times for me and making brilliant suggestions. 
> 
> NB: I wrote this before the latest episode of season 14, so my Dean Winchester hates Halloween ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sue me.

“Seriously, Cas?”

The slam of the car door echoes around the garage, closely followed by the familiar _whoosh_ that Dean’s come to recognise as the sound of Cas exiting the Impala. Why he can’t just use the damn door Dean will never know.

“I don’t see the problem with it.”

Dean snorts. “We spend 365 days a year hunting monsters, _real monsters_ , not the fake crap you see in Walmart, and yet you don’t see a problem with us celebrating that?”

The garage door clangs behind them as they exit into the bunker, and Dean stomps over to the kitchen. He hears Cas following him, on foot this time, and he sighs as he swings a cupboard open to get to the bottle of Jack he stashed in there last week. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Cas will be staring at him imploringly—he’s been spending way too much time with Sam lately and he’s got the puppy dog eyes nailed.

 _Sure,_ he thinks, as he necks his drink and brings the bottle back up for a refill,  _that’s why you’re bitter that Cas has been spending all of his time with Sam._

“It was just a suggestion, Dean.” Cas sounds so deflated that Dean actually winces, and it’s got nothing to do with the liquor burning it’s way down his throat.

Dean sighs again, louder this time, taking in the picture of Cas before him. His trenchcoat is blood splattered and rumpled from the hunt, his shirt torn. He looks a little lost, standing adrift in the kitchen, and despite both his and Sam’s insistence that the bunker is as much Cas’ home as it is theirs, Dean knows Cas still doesn’t see the place that way. Ignoring the pang this brings to his chest, Dean walks over to Cas, laying a hand on his shoulder and steering him out the door.

“Alright groucho, you win. Go get changed into something more comfortable and I’ll go dig out a crappy horror movie.”

“Comfortable?” Cas tilts his head at Dean as if Dean’s just asked him to solve the Riemann hypothesis, blue eyes squinting. Dean flaps a hand back at him, half his brain already on the bookshelf that houses their not insubstantial movie collection.

“Yeah, dude. You know, get out of the stuffy suit and into something you can relax in for a change. If we’re taking time off, we may as well go all out.”

Cas hums, before the air beside Dean’s ear ruffles, and with another _whoosh_ Cas is gone. Dean huffs in bemusement, pulling out a movie at random and booting up the dvd player. He wanders back into the kitchen while he waits for Cas, sticking some popcorn in the microwave for the hell of it. Sam’s out for the month, helping Garth on a werewolf case way out in Maine, and Dean’s skin prickles at the thought that it’s just him and Cas alone in the bunker. It’s hardly the first time, but this—making popcorn and watching a movie together—this feels different. Heck, maybe a month of celebrating the holiday isn’t such a bad thing after all if it means Cas will stick around.

“Dean?”  

“Comin’!” Dean calls. He grabs the popcorn and makes his way back to the den, promptly dropping the entire bowl when he catches sight of Cas sitting on the couch.

“Dude.”

Cas’ blinks up at him, a mixture of emotions flitting across his face. “You said comfortable.” He half shrugs, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second, despite what he just said. Dean is too busy staring to reply, his gaze flicking rapidly from the jut of Cas’ shoulder poking out from the too big t-shirt, _his_  t-shirt, to the mass of feathers surrounding him.

 _Wings, those are Cas’ wings,_ his mind helpfully supplies.

“Yeah, uhh…” Dean’s at a complete loss for words, astounded by the sight of Cas’ _actual wings_  in the flesh before him. “Doesn’t, uh,  doesn’t that hurt?” He says, and is unsurprised when Cas looks back at him even more baffled than before. “Sitting on your… like that, I mean. Aren’t the, the feathers getting bent?” Dean doesn’t know when he turned into a such floundering buffoon but he’s immensely grateful that Sam isn’t here to witness it.

“Oh!” Cas responds, perking up. He’s running his fingers through the feathers closest to him, and Dean’s own fingers twitch in desire, wanting desperately to do the same. “It doesn’t hurt,” Cas continues. “They’re very strong and flexible.” He looks up, a strange pride on his face that Dean resolutely tells himself is not adorable.

“I see,” Dean perches on the edge of the adjacent couch, mind still reeling. The wings are impressive, truly—huge and black, with an oil-slick shine catching every bead of light. And somehow even next to that, the sight of Cas wearing _his_  clothes, wearing sweatpants and a loose tee, is still equally as mind boggling.

It isn’t until Cas starts crunching that Dean snaps out of his daze. He looks up to find Cas cradling the bowl of popcorn, formerly of the Floor, Men of Letters Bunker, Lebanon, Kansas, somehow magically, _grace_ fully, back in one piece in Cas’ arms. He grins over at Dean, smug. “Put the movie on, then.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls himself together and gets up to grab the remote, nudging Cas’ foot where it’s resting on the coffee table as he does so. “Move over, you’re hogging the good couch.”

Cas has the decency to only look mildly alarmed as Dean settles down next to him, shuffling a few of his feathers out of the way. He makes an aborted sound when Dean’s fingers accidentally make contact with them, but by the time Dean looks up, Cas is already looking away, eyes fixed on the screen ahead.

“So, this is more comfortable for you then?” Dean asks, because Cas has never complained about having to keep his wings hidden before. Hell, Dean didn’t even know that it was a _choice_ that he kept them hidden.

Cas shrugs again, and Dean immediately averts his eyes, not wanting to get into another staring match with Cas’ clavicle. “You asked why I wanted to celebrate Halloween. The veil to the multidimensional plane where my wings stay is thinnest in the weeks leading up to Samhain. This is really the only chance I have to get them out for a stretch.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but Dean’s suddenly burning to see it, to see them at their full capacity. Cas is running his fingers through the feathers again, and Dean tries valiantly not to think about how amazing the feathers had felt against his skin when he’d touched one by mistake earlier. He tries not to think about how badly he wants to touch them again, and he tries to ignore the way Cas seems to be creeping ever closer on the couch, so much so that now a few of the longer flight feathers have managed to drape their way across Dean’s thigh. “These clothes are far more comfortable too,” Cas adds. “May I keep them?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replies absently, not even bothered that Cas is wearing one of his favourite t-shirts.

“Thank you. They’re very soft.”

Somehow, Dean’s hand has made it onto the feathers resting on his knee. He slides his fingers down them, revelling at the feel of them, silky smooth. “Yeah,” he replies, “they are.” Cas makes a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, and the wing moves suddenly, until the full extension of it is laid across Dean’s lap. Dean chuckles, but it gets caught in his throat, and comes out more of a breathy huff. “Does that feel good?” He slides his fingers between the layers of feathers and Cas groans.

“Yes. Keep doing that.”

The movie plays on, but Dean’s hands never stop their caress of Cas’ wing, his eyes never leave the man beside him. He’s straightened out all the longer feathers and Cas is practically purring beside him, eyes half closed in pleasure. Dean can’t imagine how it must feel to Cas, to have his wings touched after having to keep them hidden away all this time, but his own skin tingles at the thought. He shifts in his seat, his legs far too hot beneath the weight of Cas’ feathers, another heat pooling in his gut at the small involuntary moans Cas keeps letting out. Hesitantly, he moves his hand further up, reaching for the smaller, fluffier feathers tucked closer to Cas’ body. He flinches when the second he touches one Cas startles, and a wave of cold air washes over him as Cas snaps the wing away, eyes wide.

“Woah, easy. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Cas shakes his head looking torn. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

“Wait, what? Why?” Dean’s stomach plummets. He’d resisted this, not wanting to celebrate this stupid holiday, least of all for the entire _month,_  but now the thought of Cas leaving, of spending it alone, of _being alone,_  makes his chest ache.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dean.” Cas sighs and stands from the couch, and without thinking Dean leans forward to grab his elbow. He misses, his hand instead curling around the arch of Cas’ wing. Cas gasps, but Dean doesn’t let go.

“Stay,” he says firmly, gently tugging Cas back down towards him. “Just. Stay.”

Cas stares down at him for a beat, some unknown emotion swirling behind his eyes, before he relents, slowly lowering himself back to the couch. Shaking Dean’s hand off, he keeps his wings tucked close, and despite already missing their absence, Dean gets the hint and keeps his hands to himself.

“Do you have any idea what is happening in this movie?” Dean blurts after a couple of minutes. The quiet that has fallen between them is awkward now, and frankly Dean hasn’t watched more than a few seconds of the film since it began.

Cas doesn’t reply, and when Dean glances up at him, he has the pleasure of watching a blush spread up the side of his neck and across his face. “Um. It was kind of hard to pay attention when you were…” He trails off, and it’s Dean’s turn to blush. Clearing his throat, he leans forward to grab for the remote so that he can start the damn thing again. Cas’ hand lands gently on his forearm before he gets a chance though, and Dean looks around to see him biting his lip with a frown on his face. “Leave it.”

Dean settles back again, anticipation rushing over him even though he’s not even sure what he’s waiting for. The first brush of feather against his skin surprises him, and he waits, heart pounding, as Cas spreads the feathers of the closest wing out across his lap again.

“Just, don’t touch the smaller ones,” Cas says, clearly conflicted but staring at Dean in such a way that Dean knows he’s taking a leap here, a leap of trust in his friend.

“Of course. Anything.” Dean mentally slaps himself when he hears the words that just came out of his mouth play back in his head. But Cas is beaming at him, eyes bright and trusting, and Dean can’t help but smile back.

They fall back into it easily—Dean stroking Cas’ feathers reverently; Cas in some sort of pleasure filled daze that is doing nothing to stop the heat flushing through Dean’s body. The credits have rolled and the movie is back on the title screen by the time either of them snap out of it enough to notice, and by then Cas is half-asleep, and Dean’s eyes are burning from the strain of trying to catalogue every detail of this new aspect of Cas.

Dean stumbles to his room, thinking nothing of it as he pulls Cas along with him, at some unknown point his hand having migrated from being wrapped around Cas’ feathers to his hand. He thinks he must have fallen asleep before his head even hits the pillow, and yet his dreams are all touched with the phantom sense of being wrapped in something soft and warm, safe and enclosed. For the first night in months he sleeps soundly, not a dream nor a nightmare in sight.

 

* * *

 

It would be too convenient for the Halloween shenanigans to end with some light feather groping on the couch followed by an unbelievably good night’s sleep that Dean has yet to acknowledge. Instead, Dean finds himself being dragged out of bed—his cold, empty bed, that he slept in _alone_ , thank you very much—at the crack of dawn in order to go to a _farm_  of all places, by an angel that is far too perky considering he was practically drooling all over himself a week ago and has been entirely scarce since.

“Jesus, Cas, will you slow down!” Dean calls, and Cas stops immediately, looking back at Dean with an impatient huff. “Why are we walking so fast anyway?”

 _"Because,_  Dean. If we don’t get there early then all of the good ones will be taken!”

Dean rolls his eyes skyward, wondering not for the first time what he’s gotten himself into. But Cas seemed so happy this morning, the frosty awkwardness of the week before evidently forgotten.

“Fine, fine.” Dean throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “You’d think we were picking out a Christmas tree, not a damned pumpkin.” He doesn’t miss the way Cas’ eyes light up at the mention of Christmas, and Dean groans. He’s created a holiday monster. He makes a mental note to keep tight lipped about Thanksgiving, even if it has always been his favourite.

Speaking of.

“Hey, Cas!” He yells, since the angel is once again stalking determinedly towards the rows of pumpkins by the fence. “Make sure we get enough for pie!”

 

* * *

 

Of course Cas ends up wanting the sad looking misshapen one.

He spends hours— _hours_ —inspecting the various pumpkins on display. Dean doesn’t understand why he’s taking it so seriously, but he doesn’t have the heart to stop him. It’s been a long time since something as simple as choosing a pumpkin was the only thing they had to worry about. Instead he just tucks his hands under his armpits for warmth and periodically stomps his feet to get the blood flowing again. It’s freezing out, the winter chill already settling in, and despite not being able to feel his extremities, Dean is grateful for it. Since that first… non-date on the couch, the floodgates seemed to have opened for Cas, who now seems to think he has free reign to raid Dean’s closet at will. Dean hasn’t told him to stop, so he’s not really sure he’s allowed to be mad about it. Besides, seeing Cas with a warm scarf wrapped around his neck and wearing a ridiculous hat that Dean hadn’t even realised he owned is well worth it in his opinion.

“I thought you wanted a good one?” Dean asks as he looks down at the oddly proportioned orange lump in front of him, eyebrows raised.

Cas looks anywhere but at Dean, clutching the pumpkin a little tighter in his arms. He’d had to tuck his wings back into whatever plane of existence he usually keeps them on in order for them to go on this particular outing, and despite only really seeing them that one night, Cas already looks smaller without them. “No one else is going to pick this one. I don’t want it to just get left alone.”

Dean’s heart breaks a little at that, and he knows instantly that this sorry excuse for a pumpkin is coming home with them. Squashing down an expected rush of emotion as Cas’’ reasoning cuts way too close to home, Dean’s mind zones in on another issue.

“You realise we’re gonna go home and dissect this right?”

A flicker of horror crosses Cas’ face.

“I’ll grab an extra one, shall I?” Dean says, smiling when Cas’ expression clears.

Cas nods. “Yes. I think that would be best.”

Dean shakes his head as he wanders off, suppressing a laugh at how ridiculous Cas is being. He grabs two pumpkins in the end, thinking that then at least they can carve one each, and the filling will potentially be enough for more than one pie.

It’s only as they’re loading the pumpkins into the Impala—round ones in the back, Cas’ orphaned pick sitting on his lap—that Dean realises he’d already been picturing him and Cas in the bunker kitchen, carving their pumpkins together like a couple of teenagers.

And it’s only when they arrive back at the bunker, and Cas asks him if everything’s okay, that he realises he’s been smiling the entire drive, content spreading through him at the thought of being domestic with Cas.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says in reply to the head tilt. “Everything is awesome.”   

 

* * *

 

The entire month continues in this fashion, and by the time the 31st rolls around, the bunker has been transformed into a Halloween lover’s wet dream. _Tim Burton eat your heart out,_ Dean thinks, nursing his morning coffee.

Fake cobwebs hang from the staircase and there’s a skeleton sitting in the corner of the library that, thus far, Dean has avoided looking too closely at, not wanting to know if it’s real or not. Inexplicably there’s a pirate’s hat on its head, and Dean’s not sure what Cas has done to his bedroom, but every time he walks in the colours seem a little strange, as though the room is filled with a warm, orange glow that he just can’t find the source for. The whole bunker smells like pumpkin pie too, which is the one thing that Dean is very much not complaining about.   

He has no idea where Cas has found all of this crap, but every day he wakes up and there’s something new. All of it is silly stuff that is nothing compared to what they’re used to dealing with—and yet somehow Dean still jumps every time he finds yet another fake spider tucked into his sheets or in the showers. Which of course Cas thinks is hilarious, which means that Dean can’t even be annoyed by it.

The angel has been hanging around more and more ever since the trip to buy the pumpkins, as evidenced by the feathers littered about the place. Cas had muttered something about ‘natural feather loss’ when Dean had asked, but he’d looked so offended as he said it that Dean hadn’t brought it up again. He’d also not had a chance to touch the wings since that first time, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. They’ve burned their way through pretty much Dean’s entire horror movie collection, and not once has Cas sat close enough for Dean to even be able to accidentally brush against one. He’s finally used to seeing Cas walking around with his wings on display, and with the acceptance has come a restlessness, a burning desire to see and feel more.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean murmurs when Cas slouches into the kitchen. He’s back in Dean’s sweatpants, a different t-shirt this time, and he’s wearing a pair of orange and black striped socks that Dean had been unable to stop himself from buying.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says around a yawn. Dean frowns. This has been happening a lot lately—Dean waking up to find Cas looking as though _he'd_ only just woken up.

“I thought you didn’t sleep?” Dean asks as he watches Cas watch the coffee percolate.

“I don’t,” he replies, slumping into a chair in front of Dean. His wings are hanging low on his body today, the tips of them draping across the floor. They look exhausted too. “However, having my wings in this plane of existence is far more draining than I realised it would be. There is little Grace left over to keep me as awake and alert as usual.”

“Why don’t you just put them away then?” Dean gets up to finish making Cas’ coffee, since he seems to be lacking the energy to do it himself. Cas doesn’t respond straight away, and Dean turns to find him holding one of the wings in his lap, running his fingers across the feathers. It’s awfully reminiscent of the moment they’d shared back when this whole weird domestic Halloween thing started, and Dean’s fingers twitch at his sides. “Cas?”

“The pros outweigh the cons.” That is obviously not what Cas had wanted to say, and Dean narrows his eyes at him. Unfortunately, Cas is still busy examining his own feathers and doesn’t notice. Rolling his eyes, Dean pours Cas’ coffee into a mug, and goes to sit at the table with him again.

“So,” he says. “Tonight’s the big night, huh? The grand celebration of all things spooky.” He winks, and the melancholy slides off Cas’ face, instantly replaced with a mischievous twinkle that makes Dean’s stomach flip.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “I already have my costume planned out.” He’s practically radiating glee, and Dean’s stomach flip turns into a stomach drop.

“Woah, woah, woah. When I signed up for this you never said anything about costumes!”  

“It’s Halloween, Dean,” he deadpans.

Dean sputters around a mouthful of coffee. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to take you trick or treating.”

“Of course not.” Cas has the gall to look at Dean like he’s an idiot.

“But?”

“I just thought it might be... fun.” Dean’s not sure he’s ever heard Cas actually say that word before, and from the affronted look on his face, Cas isn’t sure how he feels about it either. “I know I said it’s draining using all of my Grace to maintain my wings, and it is, but I have also very much enjoyed this last month.”

Dean frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I have enjoyed ‘being human’, and I wanted to experience Samhain the way most humans do.” Cas shrugs again, by far the most human habit he has adopted, and Dean already knows that he’s going to cave to what the angel wants.

“You’ve really enjoyed being human?” He asks, mind running a mile a minute at the possibilities that admission presents.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

Dean thinks back over the last month, the domestic routine they’d so easily fallen into. Cooking in the kitchen with Cas  at the table behind him, watching horror movies together—actually watching them—and yelling at the screen every time the characters get the lore wrong. Laughing together, saying good morning and good night to each other, going on supply runs with Cas in the passenger seat as if he’s always belonged there. Even Cas’ wings, as awestruck as Dean still is by them, have become normal, here in privacy of their small slice of the world.

“I guess that’s not so hard to believe,” Dean admits with a smile.

One of the pumpkins they’d chosen at the farm is on the table between them, a centrepiece that was expertly carved by Cas into a caricature of Sam. Dean had laughed so hard when he’d seen the finished result that Cas had had to heal the muscle he pulled. Seeing Cas at his kitchen table, in his home, next to the ridiculous pumpkin that the pair of them had laughed over and knocked elbows whilst making, fills Dean with more warmth than he thought possible.

He smirks into his mug.

“I hope you know my costume is going to kick your costumes ass.”

 

* * *

 

Dean is tangled in his sheet when he hears the first yelp, and he stumbles, thumping into the door.

“Cas!” He calls. “Everything okay?”

He wrestles with the sheet a little more, tugging it up onto his shoulder until it more similarly resembles a toga. Another yelp echoes through the bunker, followed by what sounds like a slew of Enochian swear words and Dean’s out of the door like a shot.

“Cas! Where are you?”

In all the nights that Cas has spent here in the last month, Dean has still yet to work out which room he actually sleeps in. Granted, he only realised Cas had actually _been sleeping_  earlier that day, but he’s still struck by the fact that he actually has no idea where Cas goes at night. He’s spent way too much time dwelling on the fact that Cas wasn’t in _his_  room to wonder where he actually had been.

“I’m in the bathroom,” comes a muffled reply.

Dean heads down the hall, pausing when he reaches the bathroom and finds the door locked. “Cas? What’s going on?”

He hears Cas mutter under his breath, before gasping in pain.

“Open the damn door, Cas,” Dean growls, panic flaring in his stomach. The reaction doesn’t shock him, not now, not after a month of just him and Cas and ‘just him and Cas’ not being enough. “Are you hurt? Dammit, what—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the lock sliding back, and the door opening just enough for Cas to poke his head out. His expression is pinched, his eyes a little red.

“Cas what—”  
  
“You can’t laugh.”

Dean frowns, confused. “Why would I—”

“Just, promise me that you won’t laugh,” Cas is glaring again, but Dean can see the pain in his eyes, and he shakes his head wordlessly in response.

Sighing, Cas steps back from the door, pulling it open as he goes.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. There’s green everywhere. On the tiles, on the floor. The sink is full of it. “Is that… hair dye?”

Cas nods glumly. “I can’t get it off.”

His wings are drooping by his sides, weighed down by the immense amounts of dye clinging to the feathers. From three feet away Dean can see how the feathers are standing on end, can see how irritated and sore they look. “I thought it would work.” Cas sounds so disappointed that all Dean wants to do is cross the space between them and wrap him in a hug.

“Awh jeez, Cas,” he says instead. He herds Cas over to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Sit there and let me help you, okay?” Dean leans over the tub to grab the shower head off the wall and turn the water on. “Was this part of your costume then?”

“Yes,” Cas smiles sadly. “Obviously I didn’t realise how the dye would react with my Grace.”

 _Obviously not,_  Dean thinks. It’s a shame though, if it wasn’t for how tender the wings look, it would’ve looked badass. He tells Cas as much, checking the water temperature on the back of his hand.

“Thank you,” Cas replies, stiffening as Dean moves the shower head over the first few feathers. He grimaces when Dean uses his free hand to start combing through them, green dye swirling down the drain as he goes. Dean glances over Cas’ shoulder to see his hands tightening into fists against his knees.

“Easy, Cas,” he murmurs, “I got you.”

It takes hours. Cas is trembling before Dean is even halfway done, tiny shivers wracking through his body and down his wings. Dean winces in sympathy—the skin at the base of the feathers is red and inflamed, the dye clearly reacting badly with the delicate flesh. By the time Dean’s done with the outer feathers, he’s bitten so badly into his own lip that it’s started to bleed. He hates that he’s causing Cas pain, and his  occasional whimpers hit Dean like a knife to the chest.

Dean leans back with a sigh. “Alright. I’m gonna do the smaller feathers underneath now, okay?” He knows it’s not okay. He remembers vividly how Cas had reacted the last time he’d touched one of those feathers. He also knows there’s no way Cas is going to be able to reach them by himself.

Cas grits his teeth. “Just get on with it.”

Thanking the Men of Letters past for installing such an enormous bathtub, Dean clambers in, gently folding Cas’ wings backward to get to their underneath. Cas flinches so hard when Dean touches the first smaller feather that Dean drops the shower head, cursing under his breath when it lands on his foot.

“Sorry!” Cas gasps, burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Dean, are you okay?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m fine.” His toe throbs, but he knows it’s nothing compared to whatever pain Cas is feeling right now. “You gotta explain to me what it is about these feathers. Why does it hurt so much more when I touch them?”

Cas makes a noise halfway between a sob and growl. Dean hesitantly lays his hand on Cas’ shoulder, only registering in that moment that Cas is actually shirtless. His skin is warm beneath Dean’s palm, and Dean grips it tighter, wanting to do more but not knowing what it is that Cas needs.

“Those ones are the most sensitive,” he bites out. “They’re the newer growth, they aren’t strong like the rest of them. They’re vulnerable, weak; full of fresh Grace. Letting another  touch them is like… To a human, it would feel like touching your soul,” he pauses to take a breath, and Dean sits there stunned. “When you touched them before, it didn’t hurt. It was just, overwhelming. It is considered an intimate act between angels, the grooming of the inner feathers. I wasn’t expecting it from you, and I…” he stops again, and Dean watches a blush chase it’s way down the back of Cas’ neck. “I didn’t realise how it would feel. How I would react.”

Dean tries to reply, but finds his mouth completely dry. He swallows, working the moisture back into his mouth. “How did you react?”

Cas hangs his head. “I liked it. Very much.”

Dean sucks in a breath, his heart pounding. “Then why did you ask me to stop?”

Cas doesn’t reply for a long time, and it’s only when Dean thinks he’s actually not going to answer at all that he finally murmurs: “I’m not asking you to stop now.”

They’re silent until Cas’ wing twitches underneath Dean’s hand, pressing up against it as if in invitation. Dean takes a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and rest his head against the back of Cas’ neck and just breathe him in for a moment.

Instead, Dean gently continues with his task, letting Cas’ words sink in. He’s reverent in his treatment of the fragile feathers, focusing solely on getting the awful dye off them as quickly as possible. Cas is shaking again, and Dean wishes he had a free hand to hold him with while he worked.

“Does it still hurt?” He asks after a while, because Cas is making all kinds of noises and it’s messing with Dean’s head. He’d said that this was something intimate, something between angels, but from the sounds he’s making Dean’s torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to drag him to the nearest bedroom and explore whatever the hell this is.

“It’s excruciating. But it still feels quite wonderful. Please, continue.”

Dean huffs, resuming his task. His eyes wander, his hands moving to a steady rhythm. He takes in the planes of Cas’ back, the muscles shifting beneath his shoulders, the lone freckle in the dimple near his left hip. He stares until his mouth is dry, and he swallows uncomfortably when he realises that’s not the only part of him that’s affected. Cas flinches again when Dean rubs a particularly sore spot, and it’s enough to knock some sense back into him.

“Almost done,” Dean murmurs. The feathers are already looking better, the skin beneath them still red but the wings drooping a little less without the weight of the dye clinging to them. He breathes a sigh of relief once the water is running clear and he’s satisfied he’s done the best he can.

He clambers out of the tub, stepping around Cas’ hunched figure to crouch in front of him. Cas’ head is still in his hands, and Dean licks his lips once before reaching up to pull them away.

“You good?” He asks, still clutching Cas’ wrists, realising suddenly how badly he doesn’t want to let go. They’re so close, he could just lean forward and they’d—

“Yes, Dean. I’m much better. Thank you,” Cas replies. Cas gazes back at him with hunger plain on his features, and Dean blushes when it hits him that his sheet is all but entirely see-through, soaked as it is, clinging to his body. He tugs it off with a shrug, and flushes even more when Cas’ eyes widen.

“We should… we should finish up,” Dean makes a half-hearted gesture towards Cas’ wings, but Cas seems to have already forgotten about the pain he was in.

“It can wait,” is all Cas says, practically growling the words, before lunging forward and kissing him.

Dean grunts into Cas’ mouth as the full weight of the angel falls against him, both of them falling to the floor with a thud. Dean barely registers the fact that it didn’t hurt because Cas had thrown his wing out to catch him, cushioning his landing; he barely registers the fact that they’re both naked save their underwear, wet skin sliding against one another. He struggles to  register anything beyond the fact that  _Cas is kissing him_  and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. By the time he catches on, Cas’ hands are already tangled in his hair, and Dean moans at the sensation, hitching a leg up over Cas’ hip and tugging him closer.

Cas tastes like honey and popcorn, and Dean kisses him like his life depends on it, opening his mouth when Cas licks across his bottom lip. It’s the best kiss he’s ever had, hands down, and he whines in disappointment when Cas pulls away to let him breathe.

Cas chuckles, his breath ghosting across Dean’s jaw and making him shiver. Cas raises an eyebrow at him, before apparently deciding this needs further investigation. He skates the tip of nose down the jut of Dean’s jaw, and Dean tips his head back, groaning when Cas gets the hint and starts kissing his way down his neck. Dean’s hands roam across Cas’ back, and Dean laughs breathlessly when he finds the spot beneath Cas’ wings where they meet his body and Cas collapses against him with a strangled moan.

“You like that?” Dean teases, pressing into that spot again, and laughs louder when Cas mutters something in Enochian, arching his back up into the touch. His right wing ripples, spreading out to the side of them, and it’s only then that Dean realises he’s still lying on top of the other one.

“Wait”—he gasps as Cas sucks a mark into his neck—“am I hurting you?”

Cas stops so that he can fix Dean with a glare. Dean pants beneath him. “Don’t be absurd.” He dips his head again, seemingly intent on marking Dean up for the world to know, and Dean finds he’s strangely happy about that. Wants it even, wants it to be clear that someone out there actually wants him back, flaws and all.

Cas pulls away suddenly with a frown. “Stop that,” he snaps, and Dean’s finger clench around his shoulders to stop him from going any further.

“What?”

“You’re thinking far too loudly.”

Dean blushes, looking away. “Oh.” The temperature in the room may as well have dropped 10 degrees for how exposed Dean now feels, and his hands fall awkwardly to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Cas sighs, leaning down to press their foreheads together. Dean shivers when the warmth of Cas’ chest presses against his again, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see pity reflected back at him. “You are without a doubt the most idiotic human I have ever met,” Cas murmurs, and Dean chokes on a humourless laugh. “But you’re also the bravest, the strongest, and the most generous. You are not flawed, Dean Winchester.”

Dean opens his eyes purely so he can roll them while he snorts in disbelief. “Yeah, right. Next thing I know you’re gonna be telling me you looked at my soul and figured that out.”

Cas frowns and squints at the same time.

“Can you even still see when you do that?” Dean asks, pressing a finger into the crease above Cas’ nose, desperate to move off the subject. His heart is hammering, and he knows that Cas can feel it, and he hopes, _loudly and deliberately,_ that Cas will drop this.

Cas huffs. “You’re infuriating.”

“You know most people would call that a flaw, Cas.”

“I am not most people.”

Dean strokes down Cas’ back, the back of his hand bumping against Cas’ wing. “Sure aren’t,” Dean breathes, before cupping his other hand around the back of Cas’ neck and pulling him down for another kiss, regretting ruining where this had been leading only minutes before.

Dean’s not sure which one of them deepens the kiss, but he thinks it can only be moments later that he’s shifting, wanting to get closer, pleasure flitting through him at the solid weight of Cas above him and the silky brush of the feathers beneath him. His hips buck involuntarily, and heat floods through him when Cas presses back, their boxers doing nothing to hide the fact that they’re both hard. Dean lets out a strangled moan when Cas rocks his hips down, dragging his cock alongside Dean’s.

“Do that again,” he pants, too caught up to even think about the fact that this would be probably be better if they were both actually naked. He buries his hand back into that spot at the base of Cas’ wing, mindful of the damaged skin but forgetting almost instantly when Cas cries out in pleasure. He fists a handful of the smaller feathers, running them between his fingers, and Cas’ hips stutter in their rhythm.

 _“Dean,”_ he groans, and Dean moans in answer. He should be embarrassed by how quickly this is going to be over for him if they keep going at this rate, but he doesn’t care, because Cas is practically writhing above him and it’s such a far cry from where this evening began that Dean couldn’t stop if he tried. A loud clatter draws his attention, and he laughs when he realises that Cas is so adrift in the moment he’s apparently lost control of his wing and half his toiletries are now scattered on the floor around them. The whole length of it is quivering, feathers standing on end, and Dean can feel the one beneath him vibrating in pleasure as well.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes, in awe of the sight of him. Cas pants into Dean’s neck as Dean continues his ministrations, moving the hand that was busy making a mess of Cas’ hair to press into the spot beneath the other wing instead. It’s empowering, reducing the majestic creature above him to shaking with sheer pleasure, and Dean's hands clench a little tighter when he feels Cas’ cock leaking against his own.

Evidently not one to be outdone, Cas somehow wriggles a hand between them, shoving Dean’s boxers down enough that he can get a hand on him, and Dean shouts when Cas’ fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him at a pace that has Dean almost instantly on the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps before Cas is smothering his mouth with his own again, their kiss sloppier this time, both of them panting far too hard to be elegant about it. “Fuck, _Cas."_

Cas growls, stroking him faster, and Dean’s lost all sense of everything beyond how fucking _good_  this feels. He hasn’t even _touched_ Cas’ cock and yet he can feel how close the angel is, can feel every tremble of his body against his own, sweat-slick skin sliding against one another.

Dean’s eyes fly open when a wave of cold air rushes across him, and he cries out at the loss, reaching for the angel above him. But then Cas’  _wing_  is touching him, draping across his chest, feathers brushing against his cock, and Dean is coming before he can even think to warn Cas, muscles in his thighs and stomach clenching.

He thinks he blacks out for a moment, because pleasure is racking through him and all he can see is white. He realises with a cry that his hands are gripping Cas’ feathers tight, too tight, but by the time he has the sense to let go Cas is leaning over him, gasping his way through his own orgasm. Dean’s grateful to witness it, the sight pulling another ripple of pleasure out of his shaking body, and he groans when he catches sight of Cas’ wing beside them, midnight-black feathers splattered with come.

Cas laughs, breathless as he follows Dean’s gaze. “When you said that we should finish up with my wings, I don’t think that’s what you had in mind.”

The comment startles a laugh out of Dean too, and it’s only when he notices that his face hurts that Dean realises he’s beaming up at Cas, unable to keep the grin off of his face. “Shut it, it’s good for the skin.”

“Is that so?” Cas tilts his head at him, practically radiating delight. “In that case, we should investigate this further. As you saw, the skin is very damaged.”

Dean feels lighter than he has in years, as he lies there laughing on his bathroom floor, and he drops his hands to rub against Cas’ hips, fingertips still tingling. “Of course,” he replies eventually, when the moment has settled into something softer. “Anything.”

Cas’ gaze turns fond at the echo of Dean’s words, the mirror of where this had all started, all those weeks ago on the couch. Except this time Dean’s not kicking himself, not wincing around the words. He’s looking at Cas like Cas is the sun, and he knows that this time he wants Cas to hear what he’s thinking, wants him to know that when he says 'anything' he means it.

Not wanting to give Cas a chance to say something sappy in return, Dean pushes himself off the floor with a groan, sitting up so that he’s chest to chest with Cas again.

“Come on, then,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to Cas’ lips purely because he can. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

* * *

 

It goes without saying that they end up using oil in the end.

It’s not for a lack of trying on Cas’ behalf, but the skin beneath his feathers is really quite dry and flaky, and still a sore shade of red. Dean grumbles when he notices that the skin of the wing that had been trapped beneath his body looks worse than the skin on the other. Cas just brushes off his concerns, telling him—explicitly—how it was worth it until Dean is red in the face and willing to do anything just to shut him up.

They find themselves back in Dean’s bedroom—Cas lying on his stomach over the blankets, wings spread out either side of him, gloriously naked this time; Dean stood awkwardly to the side in fresh boxers, fidgeting like a teenager, eyes unable to decide where to look.

“You coming?” Cas’ voice is muffled where his face is buried in Dean’s pillow, and Dean feels his heart skip a beat at the thought that maybe it will smell like him later.

Cas snorts, and Dean falters on his way over to the bed.

“Obviously it will smell like me in here later,” Cas says by way of explanation. “I don’t intend on leaving this exact spot anytime soon. At least a day or two.”

Dean sighs. “Would you get outta my head for 5 damn minutes.”

“I will if you stop thinking negative thoughts,” Cas says, twisting so that he can look at Dean’s face.

“That wasn’t negat—”

“You were hoping that it would still smell like me in here later because you assumed I wouldn’t _be_  in here later,” Cas cuts him off, and Dean stops short, realising that he’s right. “Where else would I be, Dean?” Cas continues softly.

Dean opens his mouth but no words come out. A gentle brush against his wrist catches his attention and he glances down to see the longest of Cas’ feathers resting against it, the wing outstretched between them.

“You know that’s cheating, right?” Dean says, raising an eyebrow at Cas.

Cas just smirks.  _Smug bastard._

Dean eventually clambers onto the bed, pushing Cas around until he’s facedown again and Dean can straddle his thighs. He takes a moment just to delight in getting to see Cas like this, vulnerable and exposed. Trusting. It’s a privilege, and not one he takes lightly.

Clearing his throat and interrupting whatever train his thoughts are about to run off on next, Dean grabs for the bottle of oil he’d found, drizzling it over the base of Cas’ right wing. His plan is to start at the centre and work his way outwards, the skin at the bottom the most tender according to Cas. He pours a little oil into the dip of Cas’ back for good measure, watching it pool in the dimples either side of his spine and drinking in the little gasp Cas makes at the sensation.

Mesmerised by the way Cas’ muscles shift beneath him, Dean dips his fingers in the oil, spreading it evenly across his skin and massaging it in. Cas groans, both of his wings fluttering a little as Dean works the tension out of his shoulders, thumbs digging deep until Cas is melting into the covers. He works until Cas’ skin is shining, golden aside from the one freckle on his hip, and Dean leans down and playfully nips at it, pulling a breathless moan from Cas’ lips.

Satisfied, Dean starts in on the wing, thighs gripping Cas’ hips tight when he starts to squirm. “Are you okay?” Dean asks, a little worried, but Cas just mumbles something in Enochian, pushing his wing further into Dean’s hands.

“Don’t stop,” Cas gasps eventually, and it’s only then that Dean realises he’s actually rocking his hips into the bed, clearly getting off on what Dean is doing.

Grinning, Dean pours more oil into his hands, moving over to the base of the left wing. He leans down to press a kiss to the nape of Cas’ neck as he starts running oil-slick fingers between the feathers, massaging the skin. Cas arches underneath him, moaning—small bitten off sounds that have Dean instantly hardening in his boxers. He makes his way down Cas’ spine, stopping every now and then to press kisses to his skin, and he has to desperately think of something, anything—Bobby cooking naked—to stop himself from coming at the sound Cas makes when Dean licks over the spot where his wings meet his body. Dean hears his possessions go flying across the room as Cas’ wings flap unbidden, but he doesn’t care, sucking a mark right into the spot that had Cas coming earlier.

He’s rewarded with a slew of Enochian from the angel beneath him, and it’s not until Cas is begging him to stop that he pulls away. Both of them are panting, Cas’ back heaving as he tries to string a sentence together. “Too much, ‘s too much, Dean,” Cas slurs, and Dean hums, running his palms up and down Cas’ back to soothe him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but Cas is shaking his head before he’s even finished.

“Don’t be. That feels… exquisite. But that’s not what I want.”

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean asks, his thumbs now rubbing circles in the dips above Cas’ hips.

Cas shifts, flapping his wings once to pull himself forwards enough that Dean’s hands slide down to rest over the swell of Cas’ ass. “I want you inside me.” He says it so quietly that Dean can barely hear it over the pounding of his own heart. He sucks in a breath, and is relieved when a blush spreads it’s way across Cas’ body—at least both of them are clearly new at this.

“Are you sure?” Dean breathes, his fingers clenching instinctively. Cas groans in response, arching into it, and it’s enough for Dean to swallow down his nerves.

He reaches for the bottle of oil again, pouring it so that it runs down between Cas’ cheeks. Cas shivers, his wings ruffling, and a spark of heat flits through Dean’s body. He coats his fingers and leans forward to place another kiss to the spot where Cas’ wings meet his body as he eases the first finger inside.

Dean preps Cas slowly, as much for his own enjoyment as to draw it out for Cas. There’s something so intimate about it, draping himself over Cas’ back, nuzzling his face into the base of his wings as Cas trembles beneath him and clenches around his fingers. Dean almost doesn’t want to stop, content to just get Cas off like this, but Cas clearly has other ideas and Dean chuckles when he shoves him backwards with one of his wings and huffs that he’s ready. Dean coats his dick in more of the oil, probably too much if he’s being honest, but he’s never done this before and his hands are shaking a little.

He hesitates for a moment, hovering over Cas, suddenly wishing more than anything that he could see his face.

The room shifts suddenly, and with a _whoosh_  that has the world spinning for a moment, Dean finds himself flat on his back on the bed, Cas straddling his thighs and gazing down at him.

“Hey,” Dean pants, body tingling in anticipation.

Cas doesn’t reply, just smirks, touching Dean’s face ever so softly with one of his feathers. The moment is almost tender, but then Cas is wrapping his hand around Dean’s cock and sinking down with a groan and any and all thought is gone from his mind.

The feeling is indescribable; Dean’s mouth opening in a wordless cry when wet, tight heat surrounds him, all of his muscles tightening as pleasure suffuses through his body. Cas’ wings are curled around them, casting them in shadow, but Dean can still see where Cas’ cock is rock hard as he moves, slowly as he adjusts and then faster, tipping his head back with a sigh.

Dean’s hips start rocking in tandem, small thrusts until Cas suddenly gasps, whispering a desperate _'do that again’_. Dean smirks, his hands finding Cas’ hips, tightening around hip bones that have taunted him for weeks, and he grips them tightly as he starts thrusting up harder. Cas’ wings spread above them, every feather seemingly standing on end in pleasure, and Dean stares at them in wonder, mind reeling that he should get to have this.

 _“Dean,”_ Cas moans, and Dean would reply if he could find the words. But Cas is so hot above him, skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and oil, and Dean watches a bead of it chase it’s way down his chest, riveted. It’s all he can do to hold on, to reach up and grab a fistful of feathers, and his toes curl when Cas clenches around him in response.

“Fuck, Cas. You feel so good.” Cas grunts an answer that Dean doesn’t quite catch, and it’s with great effort that he pushes himself up, wrapping his arms around Cas’ back to stop him from falling. Both of them groan when the change in position has Dean slipping a little deeper, and Dean buries his face in Cas’ neck, panting around the kisses he sloppily drags up to his jaw. They meet somewhere in the middle, Cas’ hands tangling in Dean’s hair as their lips brush together, not really kissing so much as sharing breath. They can’t really move as much like this, Cas rocking his hips into Dean more than anything else, but it’s the closeness, the way Cas’ wings fold around them, the wet drag of Cas’ cock brushing against his stomach, that pushes Dean closer to the edge.

Cas whimpers when Dean wraps his hand around his cock, stroking him quickly, a counterpoint to the slow roll of Cas’ hips. Dean wants him to come first, wants to watch him fall apart in his lap, and he pulls away from Cas’ lips with a gasp when Cas tightens around him suddenly. Cas makes a startled sound, and then his wings flap once, hard, his whole face lighting up.

Dean groans as Cas’ cock spills over his fist, the angel’s whole body seizing in pleasure as he pants his way through his orgasm, wings quivering. He mumbles something unintelligible, clenching around Dean repeatedly as his body shakes with the aftershocks, and Dean comes with an unexpected cry, hands falling from where he’d unintentionally buried them in the base of Cas’ wings to rock Cas’ hips forward a few more times.

 _“Fuck,”_ he pants into Cas’ neck, mind reeling. He hears Cas snort into the top of his head, and both of them share an exhausted laugh, Dean chuckling at the giddiness pouring through him. “That was amazing.”

“Quite,” Cas states, breathless, and Dean laughs a little louder at the ridiculousness of it all, wondering if this is what ‘afterglow’ feels like.

“I think it is, Dean,” Cas pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him, and Dean just smiles stupidly back at him, chest bursting with how much he feels for the man still wrapped around him.

“Alright, nobody likes a smartass,” he replies eventually, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of Cas’ nose. “Now do your Grace thing and clean us up.”

Cas huffs, but Dean can see he’s smiling too. His body tingles as Cas’ complies, and the next thing he knows he’s being wrestled down to the bed, somehow finding himself in a position that he resolutely refuses to acknowledge as ‘the little spoon’.

“Cas, can you get the—”

The lights go off with a blink, and Dean shuffles backwards, unable to stop the small, satisfied noise he makes when Cas wraps his arms around him and pulls him in closer.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs.

“Anything,” Cas replies, pressing his face into the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s chest aches with everything he feels in that moment, and he’s grateful that Cas can’t see his face. He sighs when a heavy warmth drapes over him, the silky smooth feathers of Cas’ wings soft against his skin. Cas makes a contented sound, pressing himself even closer, and Dean tangles their feet together, for once unable to bring himself to pretend that this isn’t something he wants.  

His eyes fall to the pumpkin sat on the dresser across from them—Cas’ orphaned pick, carefully wrapped in the scarf he’d been wearing that day and infused with enough of Cas’ Grace that Dean knows it won’t be dying anytime soon. He smiles to himself. He thought Cas ridiculous at the time, but now as he lays there Cas’ words from that day drift through his mind. _No one else is going to pick this one. I don’t want it to just get left alone._ And the last thing he thinks before he falls asleep is how glad he is that Cas picked him, too.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Cas?” He asks into the dark, half-expecting the angel to still be asleep.

Dean’s been awake for about an hour, just running through everything in his mind. He’s got a few of Cas’ feathers tangled in his fingers again, and Cas has been purring like a goddamn cat for at least as long.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?” Cas hums.

“You said that you didn’t realise how it would feel.” Dean doesn’t know why he’s whispering, it’s only them here after all, but somehow whatever this is, it feels almost sacred. And he doesn’t want to break the strange peace he’s found himself wrapped in.

“What?”

“Back in the bathroom, when I touched your wings. You said you didn’t realise how it would feel.” Dean had felt hollow when Cas had said it, a strange sadness drifting over him as he’d sat there stunned. He hadn’t really realised it at the time, but now lying in Cas’ arms, it occurs to him why the thought made him sad earlier. “Has no one ever touched your wings before?”

Cas stiffens, and he’s pressed so close to Dean’s back that Dean can feel it when he stops breathing.

“Cas?” He has to wrestle with the combination of Cas’ entire body weight, his wing, and his now vice-like grip in order to roll over. It’s pitch black in the windowless room, but the ever-present orange glow of Halloween that Cas had somehow infused throughout the room is yet to dissipate, and Dean can still make out Cas’ features. Cas is looking anywhere but at him, and Dean cups his jaw, pulling his gaze towards his own. Taking in the hesitant look in Cas’ eyes, Dean changes tact and leans forward and kisses him lightly. “How about I go make us some breakfast?” Cas visibly deflates in relief, and Dean smiles, kissing him again before swinging himself out of bed.

He busies himself with pancakes in the kitchen, making a deliberate clatter with the pan so that Cas doesn’t feel the need to talk if he doesn’t want to. By the time he’s done, Cas is looking relaxed again, sat at the table in yet another of Dean’s t-shirts with a content look on his face. Both hair and feathers askew.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says when Dean puts a plate in front of him, pancakes topped with blueberries and honey the way he likes it.

Dean blushes, sitting down himself with a grunted “No problem.”

Pumpkin-Sam sits between them, somehow even in vegetable form managing to look exasperated. Dean wonders what Sam will make of all this, of this domestic routine he and Cas have settled in to. He figures Sam won’t care, will no doubt just flip his hair dramatically and act as if he’s known all along. Dean laughs a little at the thought, feeling lighter than he can ever remember. He thought he’d be freaked out by all this, but the last month has taught him enough that he knows he isn’t going to fight this, he’s not going to push Cas away. Not after everything they’ve been through. He gets to have this, Dean’s decided, and if Cas wants him, then  he’ll take every minute he can get.

Cas tangles their feet together under the table, and Dean leans over to wipe a spot of honey off his chin. It’s cute as all hell and all Dean can do is sit there and grin about it.

“So, what do you want to do now that Halloween is over?” Dean asks as he gets up to clear their plates.

“I’ve never been in love before,” Cas replies serenely.

Dean whips his head round so fast he’s surprised his neck doesn’t crack. “What?”

“You asked about my wings.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“No one had ever touched my wings before because I had never been in love before. You don’t let just anyone touch your wings, Dean.” He says it like Dean’s an idiot, like this should have been obvious, and there’s such a rush of feeling pounding through him that Dean’s not sure what to do with it all. He loses the time between Cas sitting at the table and Cas standing right in front of him, leaning into his space and looking at him with such earnest honesty. “I do love you,” he murmurs. “I thought you knew that.”  

Dean draws in a stuttered breath, more memories than he even realised they shared flitting through his brain. And he guesses that in some way, he has always known.

Dean kisses him then, pushing him up against the kitchen counter and burying his hands under the back of his shirt. He kisses him deeply, pouring all the words he wants to say into it, hoping that Cas can tell that he feels the same way too. From the way that Cas curls into him, his wings wrapping firmly behind Dean back and pulling him in, Dean thinks that Cas gets it, and he moans into Cas’ mouth.

Cas is breathless by the time Dean pulls away, but grinning, eyes shining. “I want to show you something.”

“Now?” Dean whines.

“Yes. In the library.”

Dean steps back with an exaggerated sigh, allowing Cas space to walk out of the room. He follows begrudgingly behind him, not wanting Cas to be too far away from him, and in lieu of holding hands—he’s not sure that they’re quite _there_  yet— tangles one of his hands in the feathers of Cas’ right wing. “If what you want to show me isn’t sex on the table I’m going to be disappointed,” he grumbles.

“Maybe later,” Cas laughs, grabbing a book from his favoured armchair and dropping it with a thump on the desk in front of Dean. “Here.”

Dean arches an eyebrow at him. “A book? Cas we really gotta work on your gift giving skills.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Would you just open it? I have marked the page.” He’s practically giddy, swaying on his heels, feathers all puffed up. The book is so old the title has completely worn away, and when Dean opens it it’s written almost entirely in a language he doesn’t recognise. He reaches the place where Cas had tucked a leather bookmark, turning the pages deliberately slowly because he’s enjoying the way Cas looks like he’s about to explode with excitement way too much.

“Look!” Cas cries when Dean eventually splays the book open on the marked spread.

“Look at what? Cas I don’t even know what language this is written in.”

“Of course, I forgot about the limitations of the human brain.” Dean glares. “It’s a spell, Dean. It weakens the veils between dimensions.”

It takes Dean a moment to get there—already reconsidering his indignance at Cas’ comment about his brain’s limitations—but when it dawns on him what Cas is getting at, he feels a sadness he hadn’t even noticed forming evaporate. “This means you can keep your wings?” He asks, fingers tracing over the words on the page in wonder, the possibilities of what that meant spilling over in his mind.  

“Yes. Which means I can stay more human, with you.”

Dean finds himself unexpectedly choked up by that statement. “You would do that?”

“I would.”

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat, thanking the deities that Cas isn’t looking at his face right now. “But what about your Grace? Won’t having your wings out all the time drain it?”

Cas shrugs, like it’s an inconsequential thing that doesn’t matter. “I enjoy being human, Dean. I enjoy being able to taste the food you make for me. I like feeling the sun on my skin. I like showering, and brushing my teeth. I want to be able to fall asleep with you and wake up to find you next to me. And I love the way it feels when you touch my wings. I don’t want to give that up,” he blushes then, ducking his head. “Besides, when we go on hunts or out to the grocery store or out on dates I will have to hide them away again anyway. My Grace will recharge, if you will, while they’re in the other plane. Of course if you don’t want—”

“No!” Dean yells, far louder than he was intending. Cas looks up at him in surprise, and Dean huffs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry. Of course I want you to keep your wings. They’re a part of you and I… I love every part of you.” He mumbles the last bit, embarrassed, but then he finds himself with an armful of Cas and the only thing he has room to think about is whether or not sex on the table is back on the cards.

“So, uh, dates huh?” He asks when Cas stops attacking his mouth to let him breathe.

“Yes. Dates. With pie.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna say no to that.”

Cas grins, smug. “I know. But first, I think my wings are still a little sore from yesterday...” he trails off, looking shifty, and Dean knows exactly where this is going.

“Really? Need me to rub a little more oil on them do you?” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but Cas is already nodding enthusiastically, backing out of the room.

“Oh yes. I believe a thorough groom is in order.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. In fact, I think you might need to spend the rest of the day examining every feather. Just in case you missed a spot yesterday.”

Dean snorts, but that doesn’t stop the majority of his blood rushing south as he watches the way Cas’ wings quiver in anticipation. “You know, I think you might be right. How about you go and get settled on the bed and I’ll go fetch some more oil?”

Cas turns so fast he actually knocks one of his wings off the door frame, and Dean laughs,  thinking for the first time that maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
